


Blackout

by Lamachine



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 08:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/pseuds/Lamachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“When there’s trouble she comes ‘round,” Angie greeted her with a smirk.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Peggy took a seat by the counter, her eyes absently running on the few clients still loitering. “Trouble?” she asked with a slight trepidation in her voice.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackout

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not historically correct because New York's blackout was in 1959 but I could not get rid of this fluffy idea, so... here goes.

The brown coffee splashed Peggy’s blouse, staining the fabric as it burned the skin underneath. She couldn’t tell whether it was her or Sousa that gasped first; his apologies mixed with her mumbled reassurances, an awkward exchange that she cut short by running off to the restrooms. She hit the doorframe on the way out and pestered against the lack of lighting, once again wondering when this day would finally come to an end.

 

As usual, the ladies’ restroom was empty, only today the darkness added a gloomy atmosphere that sent shivers down Peggy’s spine. Nevertheless she quickly took off her blouse to try and wash the stain off, ignoring the quiet stalls behind her.

 

A blackout in New York was unheard of; it painted everything in a strange fashion, and unnerved Peggy almost as much as her distraught coworkers. Unlike them, she highly doubted the event to be of human design; with the heat wave that had plagued the city for days, she guessed the electrical grid had simply been through too much. Still, she had a responsibility to investigate, and she had for more than a few hours now. With no lead suspect and no other sign of trouble, she had very little to go on.

 

Her main worry had been over crowd-control. Sure, at the moment there hadn’t been reports of riots or looting, but the sun had been down for only an hour. Peggy wondered if the citizens of New York would remain so calm if the electricity wasn’t back in time for breakfast - she winced as she thought of the morning tea she might not have a chance to get.

 

A knock on the door startled her and she quickly put her blouse back on, flinching as the cold fabric glued to her skin.

 

“Yes?” she allowed the stranger in - no doubt Sousa trying to apologise once again.

 

Instead, Thompson’s head peeked in. “Heard you had another accident,” he mocked. No doubt Peggy would have bruises after this day; it seemed she had been more invisible than usual to her colleagues, and Sousa was far from being the first one to drop coffee on her today. Before she could reply, Thompson continued, “go home, Carter.”

 

She hated the way his eyes had turned soft. “I am perfectly capable of performing my duties, thank you,” she answered sharply, although the stained and partially wet blouse somewhat weakened her argument.

 

“I know,” he admitted as she thought of punching his cocky smile right off his face. “But we just got word: grid got conked out ‘cause of the heat. We’re done here.”

 

Annoyed, Peggy refused to give him the satisfaction of being thanked for the good news; instead she shrugged, taking a look at herself in the mirror. She found her blouse wrinkled and her hair quite messier than usual, and yet she did not slow down to readjust her look. Thinking only of getting home and finally having a drink, she walked out the door and ignored the inappropriate stares of her coworkers. It took her less than a minute to grab her purse and run down the emergency stairs, but as soon as Peggy reached the outside, she stopped hurrying.

 

A cool breeze wafted through the streets of New York, like a silent apology for the unbearing heat that had suffocated everyone for the better part of the week. Peggy headed towards the Griffith without a thought, the city oddly quiet around her. She smiled as cars drove by slowly, the pace of turtles as most drivers curled over the wheel, frightened to hit something. The neon lights remained dark as she read multiple handwritten posters that promised the stores would open again as soon as electricity came back. Here and then she crossed path with young people relishing in the strange atmosphere of the metropolis or worried citizens stacking up candles and flashlights.

 

Peggy found the situation oddly peaceful as the stress of the day slowly vanished. She reached the Griffith with a smile on her lips and the absolute resolve to have a drink or two with Angie. Already she imagined the stories of idiot clients complaining about the blackout, and although it meant Angie’s day had probably been horrible, Peggy somehow looked forward to making it better.

 

She had not accounted for Mrs Fry’s survival instincts, however, or for her military discipline. Peggy entered a Griffith transformed into a wartime outpost. Before she had time to slip up the stairs unnoticed, Peggy heard her name barked like an order. She turned to face Mrs Fry and faked a smile. Almost added a curtsey, for good measure.

 

Disapproving eyes ran over her stained blouse. “Surely you are aware of the current situation, Miss Carter,” Mrs Fry spoke as if Peggy herself was to be held responsible for the blackout. “Here at the Griffith, women stick together in times of hardship.”

 

Peggy doubted that losing electricity for a few hours could be described as hardship, and yet she nodded. “Of course,” she agreed, Angie’s name on her lips.

 

“If you will go by the kitchen, you will find we prepared a basket for every girl,” she continued, pausing only to glare at two women who walked by chuckling. The girls immediately straightened their clothes and their pose as they went down the corridor, and Peggy tried her best not to laugh. “Miss Carter?”

 

“Yes Mrs Fry,” she breathed out, resisting the urge to salute.

 

Frowning, Mrs Fry cleared her throat. “The girls have had enough excitement for one day,” she declared as if her lodgers were children. “I trust you have no intention of adding more to that.”

 

Peggy could not tell exactly when this troublemaker reputation had started, but she doubted it had something to do with the little time she had hidden Harold Stark in her bedroom. Just thinking about it made her flinch. “Of course,” she smiled to seal the promise and headed towards the stairs. Somehow the thought of meeting Angie lifted her frustrations once more.

 

“Your basket, Miss Carter,” Mrs Fry insisted behind her, and this time Peggy did not hide her annoyed sigh.

 

In the kitchen she found a small queue of women waiting for their turn, all equally bored and tired. After hearing the same questions over and over - “name and room number please” - Peggy finally reached the main table. In return for the information she was given a small box with two candles, some matches, bread, cheese and canned ham.

 

“What happens if I don’t have an opener?” Peggy joked, and was met with a look of disapproval. Evidently she wasn’t the only one who had suffered through a long day and she shot the woman an apologising smile, a question burning the back of her mind. “Has Miss Martinelli come by already?”

 

The woman sighed before she surrendered in front of Peggy’s pleading eyes. “No, she hasn’t,” she replied once she had checked the list.

 

Peggy frowned; surely the laundromat hadn’t stayed open this late, with no electricity to power the washing and drying machines. “Perhaps I could take her box to her room,” she suggested, leaning on the table. “She works long days you see and-”

 

“I don’t think Mrs Fry would approve of that,” the woman cut her off.

 

“I don’t think Mrs Fry has to know,” Peggy winked, with little effect. Under the woman’s glare she remembered her messy hair and wrinkled, stained blouse and her cheeks reddened slightly. “I should…” she pointed towards the exit before she made a run for it.

 

She dropped the basket in her room and her purse on her bed, her heart beating almost heavily in her chest. Although she suspected her worry made no sense, she still picked up her flashlight and bolted out the door, returning to the quiet streets with a new frenzy.

 

This time, all Peggy heard were her own footsteps on the sidewalk, the quick clicks of her heels as she nearly jogged towards the laundromat. The fatigue of the day strained her muscles and yet barely slowed her down, ignoring the ache in her legs and back just like she overlooked the stares that followed her on the way.

 

It was strange to see the laundromat sign unlit, but not as much as peculiar as the orange glow of the burning candles on every table inside. Peggy smiled as she noticed Angie gracefully moved from one client to the next, offering smiles here and there. She felt warmth spreading through her chest as she noted how different those were from the grin she reserved for Peggy, and she found herself entering the laundromat with a newfound energy.

 

“When there’s trouble she comes ‘round,” Angie greeted her with a smirk.

 

Peggy took a seat by the counter, her eyes absently running on the few clients still loitering. “Trouble?” she asked with a slight trepidation in her voice.

 

Angie sighed, one hand resting on her hip. “If you count melting ice cream as trouble,” she vaguely pointed towards the refrigerators, where a puddle of vanilla ice cream was slowly merging with the chocolate’s.

 

“That does seem dangerous,” Peggy agreed with a nod. The smile Angie sent her way nearly made her own grin falter as her cheeks reddened. “How come you’re not closed yet?” she asked, hoping the return to practical conversation subjects would stop this ridiculous feeling that swelled in her stomach every time Angie batted her eyelids at her.

 

Grabbing a mop and a bucket from further down the counter, Angie shrugged. “Boss always stacks up tons of ice,” she explained even as she focused on her task. “We’re the only ones with cold drinks around the block.”

 

Peggy shot one glance at the mirror behind the counter, noticing an old man blowing out the candles one by one. She frowned as her eyes met Angie’s, who stepped closer.

 

“Sir?” Angie tried to grab his attention as the old man shoved the candlesticks in his coat’s pocket. “Sir you can’t take those.”

 

Mop still firmly in hand Angie stepped forward, her knuckles turning white. Peggy left her seat to stand beside her, wondering if she should intervene. Yet Angie seemed to be able to handle herself and so Peggy settled on remaining quiet for now.

 

Angie reached the old man’s side and placed one hand on his shoulder, startling him. He raised his fist and instead of flinching, Angie lifted the mop, as if ready to strike him. “Put them back,” she ordered with a calm voice and the man blinked. “Now,” she insisted when he hesitated.

 

After a few seconds of silence, Peggy crossed her arms. “I suggest you do as she says,” she threatened, and the old man’s gaze ran from Angie to Peggy and then back.

 

Once he had emptied his pocket on the table, Angie grabbed one candlestick, offering it to him with an apologetic smile. “Now go home,” she suggested and the old man nodded, muttering something that could’ve been a thank you or an insult; Peggy had no idea.

 

“Right,” Angie sighed in irritation as he exited the laundromat. “I think that’s enough,” she added, sharing a look with Peggy. “We’re closing,” she declared with a louder voice.

 

In a matter of minutes the remaining clients had paid their bills and left, and Angie’s smile returned to her lips as she locked the front door behind them. She turned to Peggy with a wicked glee in her eyes, eyes sparking in the darkness of the laundromat.

 

“So what happened to you?” Angie asked with a curious grin, her gaze falling on Peggy’s stained blouse.

 

Peggy’s cheeks flushed once again. “A run-in with a coworker and his cup of coffee,” she explained, suddenly awkward.

 

“And that’s why your blouse is buttoned all wrong?” Angie teased, a finger and a thumb pulling on one of the buttons as Peggy absently nibbled on her lower lip.

 

Unable to find a reply, Peggy tried to ignore the wild beating of her heart, unwillingly picturing how it would feel to lean in and kiss that smirk off Angie’s lips. She blinked and suddenly Angie was back at the counter, mopping the floor with a curious glee. Around her, the candlelights wavered, throwing shadows at every corner.

 

“I brought a flashlight,” she announced as if it explained everything.

 

Angie chuckled. “I noticed, English,” her eyes pointed towards the counter, where Peggy had left her flashlight in evidence. A few seconds of silence passed before Angie spoke again, more seriously. “Why did you come here?”

 

Peggy cleared her throat, nervously stacking chairs on tables as she avoided Angie’s looks. “I wanted some ice cream,” she joked, but it did nothing to deter Angie’s piercing eyes. “Well I could not stay at the Griffith. One more minute and Mrs Fry would have pinned this blackout on me.”

 

“And do you have anything to do with it?” Angie asked cheerfully, but Peggy heard the seriousness behind the words. Angie was far from being stupid or blind, and Peggy dreaded that her days pretending to work at the phone company were fewer than she’d have thought.

 

She raised her hands. “You got me,” Peggy smiled, hoping the warmth in her voice would keep Angie from asking too many questions. “I fancied a change.”

 

Angie looked down for a second, a newfound smirk on her lips when she gazed at Peggy again. “Well it’s very romantic,” she admitted, stepping closer.

 

On the counter, the last candle burned out and darkness fell on the both of them, quiet and warm. Peggy could only hear the rhythm of Angie’s breathing as she swallowed hard, stepping closer. For a moment she thought the world had disappeared, and all that remained was the two of them, staring at each other through the thick of the night, speechless.

 

“Peggy?” Angie breathed out, her voice low and yet soft.

 

Peggy’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes, Angie?”

 

Angie moved slightly closer, her body nearly pressed against Peggy’s. Her heat overwhelmed Peggy, and it was almost a miracle that she managed to focus enough to hear Angie’s voice so close to her ear. “Didn’t you bring a flashlight?”

 

Peggy blinked as she nodded, an unsteady hand reaching for the device. She turned it on in time to see Angie’s teasing smile.

 

“I thought the Brits were supposed to be patient,” she winked before she returned behind the counter, locking the register. “I’m almost done,” Angie promised and Peggy bit on her lower lip once again, trying to ignore the urge to pull Angie closer.

 

“Take all the time you need,” Peggy offered, but Angie seemed to see right through her.

 

She grabbed her keys and leaned on the counter, staring in Peggy’s eyes almost defiantly. “You’re here to walk me home, English?”

 

Peggy considered lying, but there was no point. Not under that look, and not when she had nearly ran here, without even stopping to change, and while suffering in those damn heels. “I thought, with the blackout…” she let her voice trail, unsure of what her excuse was exactly. Angie was more than capable of taking care of herself, and Peggy felt more than a little dumb for worrying over nothing.

 

“I like the company,” Angie promised as she grabbed a large garbage bag and headed towards the back of the laundromat. She turned around and chuckled. “You’re going to light the way, or what?”

 

That seemed to bring Peggy back to the present and she aimed her flashlight at the back door, the two of them exiting the laundromat without a word. The alley was dark, damp and stinky, and Peggy was glad when they reached the empty street.

 

“Thank God you’re here to protect me,” Angie mocked again as she looked around, with no one in sight. Peggy scowled, but before she had a chance to protest, Angie had already locked an arm around hers. “Shall we?”

 

They walked towards the Griffith at a slow pace, listening to the odd quietness of the city. Angie pointed out that they could see more stars than usual and they trekked with one eye on the sky, arms locked, hips bumping into each other every now and then. Peggy forgot about the frustrating day she had as Angie started chattering about hers, the constant rumble of her words interrupted by Peggy’s small reactions and Angie’s light chuckles.

 

The Griffith’s hall was dark and silent when they arrived, and Peggy placed a hand on Angie’s forearm, stopping her in her tracks. “Your basket,” she whispered. “You’ll have to get it from the kitchen.”

 

“Is there booze in it?” Angie grinned. When Peggy rolled her eyes, she laughed. “Then I don’t care much for it. I’m exhausted.”

 

“Mrs Fry will make you get one,” Peggy warned.

 

Angie stepped forward, turning around with a devilish smile. “Well can’t you just sneak me up to your room then?”

 

Peggy’s heart ran wild as she followed Angie inside, Angie’s hand finding hers and pulling her in tow. It was later than she had thought and most girls had already returned to their rooms, and Peggy was glad when they managed to get upstairs without running into Mrs Fry.

 

They heard footsteps down the corridor as Peggy unlocked her door and Angie started tapping on her shoulder frantically, as if entering Peggy’s room was suddenly a matter of life and death. As if they had to hide from whoever was walking towards them, and Peggy took in a sharp breath when Angie pushed her inside the bedroom, locking the door behind them in a hurry. She was about to protest when Angie’s finger came to rest on her lips, effectively keeping her quiet.

 

The two of them listened as the stranger walked passed Peggy’s room; heavy footsteps that might have belonged to Mrs Fry, but there was no way to tell. When the sounds quieted down Angie laughed, and Peggy shook her head. “You are insane,” she whispered fondly.

 

Angie’s fingers pulled on a button of Peggy’s blouse. “I’m not the one who still hasn’t fixed this,” she noted. Peggy swallowed hard as Angie unbuttoned her blouse slowly, the tip of her fingers brushing against her skin every now and then. It was almost disappointing when Angie buttoned the blouse again, if it wasn’t for the sharp breath that she drew as she took sight of Peggy’s bra.

 

“What was in the basket?” Angie asked, pulling them both out of the moment, and Peggy realised she had stopped breathing for a while.

 

She blinked and ran a hand through her hair, awkward and strangely aroused, still. “Hmm, candles, matches and canned ham.”

 

“What if you don’t have an opener?” Angie joked.

 

Peggy barely smiled at the crack; instead she pulled on Angie’s uniform and crashed their lips together. Warm and soft under her lips, Angie melted against her, her hands quickly snaking their way around Peggy’s back and resting just above her waist. Peggy’s palm cupped Angie’s cheek even as her other hand still fisted the fabric of her waitress uniform, stopping only when she heard Angie’s name tag falling on the floor.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, for the name tag or the kiss, she wasn’t sure.

 

Angie smirked. “So you don’t have an opener, uh?”

 

Peggy rolled her eyes before she realised that she did not, in fact, have one. Her cheeks reddened as she gave Angie a sheepish smile. “I have schnapps,” she offered.

 

“Sounds good to me, English,” Angie replied as she sat on Peggy’s bed as if she belonged there.

  
Peggy tried not to think of what it meant as they drank in silence, slowly falling asleep beside one another. When the power came back on at four in the morning, waking the two of them with unwelcomed light, Peggy turned off the lamp with an annoyed sigh, and returned to Angie’s arms, oddly peaceful.


End file.
